


Oh my god, I'm so tired, shut up and let me go to sleep

by galacticmint



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Post Timeskip, Pre-Relationship, black eagles - Freeform, on that route and the rest of them are also there, they/them pronouns used briefly for byleth, well really mid timeskip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 06:07:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20110369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galacticmint/pseuds/galacticmint
Summary: Half of the Black Eagles return after being separated on a mission, Linhardt really wants to sleep but Caspar won't shut up, there's some cuddling and Linhardt thinks about feelings.EDIT: added a second chapter because it felt like it needed it. Their beloved professor comes back, Caspar gets jealous, there's actual kissing this time, ya welcome.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I really like this ship, but there doesn't seem to be a lot for it yet! I think I'd like to write some other things about the Black Eagles interactions with each other as well.

It made sense, Edelgard insisted, to split their forces like this. Herself, Hubert, Lindhardt, and Bernadetta would lead a handful of troops into the woods to find the enemy soldiers that had been threatening the nearby townsfolk, while Ferdinand, Petra, Dorothea, and Caspar would stay behind with the rest to protect their stronghold. If they lost the monastery, it would be a huge setback for the Empire, so they couldn’t possibly leave it unprotected. Still, nearly all of them had to struggle to bite back the words. _Our teacher would never divide us like this._

Their teacher wasn’t there. They had vanished four and a half years ago, in the desperate battle that turned them all for good from students into soldiers. And Edelgard was doing her best, so they shouldn’t complain. They were following her for their own reasons, after all, even when those reasons seemed thin and unconvincing against the exhaustion of a march through the mud and rain.

At least they were almost home. Well, almost back to the monastery, at least. What had been expected to be a few days had turned into a week before they found their foes, and they hadn’t had any way of contacting their comrades back at the base. Hopefully they didn’t think they were all dead. 

Linhardt, for one, was ready to be back at the monastery. Ready for real, actual beds, and warm food, and not having to listen to Bernadetta squeak in terror every time water dripped down the back of her jacket, or a squirrel moved across their path, or the breeze blew even slightly. Ready to be able to sleep without the constant presence of Edelgard sitting ramrod straight at the center of camp, red as a coal and just as dangerous, radiating an unbearable intense energy. He considered himself good at sleeping, so napping on his horse should come naturally to him, but it was difficult when Hubert could appear out of thin air, glowering and exuding dissatisfaction towards his low-to-nonexistent levels of motivation.

The gray stone shape of the monastery appeared over the horizon against the dim sky. A rustle went through their troops, and Linhardt thought he even heard a soft cheer. Bernadetta whispered, ‘oh, thank goodness,’ and even Edelgard seemed to have something resembling a smile hovering at the corner of her mouth. For his part, he couldn’t wait to be able to finally have some time to himself, to be able to rest in quiet and peace.

‘Peace’ and ‘quiet’ seemed a long way away though, because the second they came through the gate their left behind comrades essentially pounced on them.

“Edie!” Dorothea called, rushing up to them with tears in her eyes. “You were gone for so long! Oh, Bern, look at you, you’re shivering, you must be chilled to the bone, take my cloak--”

Petra stood nearby, grinning from ear to ear and giving some frankly incomprehensible report-- honestly her grasp on the language had gotten much better throughout the years, so Linhardt figured he was just tired, and that’s why it made no sense at all. Ferdinand too, hovered at Edelgard’s side, gushing about how they thought she might have died, and if so he would have been just forced to take charge, and it had really almost come to that…

So, that was almost everyone, right? He could leave now. He could-- he could be scooped off his horse by a pair of strong arms, as Caspar yelled right next to his ear (right next to his ear! He was going to kill him) “There you are!”

Linhardt put his face down against the metal of his breastplate and made a sound like “Eurghhhh.”

This was too much. He just wanted to sleep. Caspar was too much effort.

He hadn’t always been too much effort. He’d once been the one person who didn’t try to change Linhardt’s habits, who didn’t argue about him not showing up to class-- or at least, they’d known each other for so long that any such desire to change his ways had long worn off. Something hovered between them now, though-- and finding the words for it was far too exhausting. He couldn’t have this conversation now. Maybe next year.

Next to his ear Caspar babbled at full volume about how he’d been so worried, they’d had to physically hold him back from rushing after them on day four, gosh everyone was so wet and muddy-- When he took in a breath after this statement, Linhardt lifted his head and managed, “Bath. Now.” There must have been something about the way he said it, because Caspar actually loosened his hold on him, and Linhardt was able to squirm out of his arms and stumble through the courtyard towards the promise of hot water and solitude.

Thankfully (?) Caspar left him alone to take a bath. Linhardt supposed he had that same unnameable something to thank for that, and the thought made his mouth twist like he was tasting something sour. When he stepped out of the water and pulled on clean robes, he was still stewing over it. How tiresome. He just wanted to go to bed.

His path was blocked, yet again, by the bulk of his best friend, who intercepted him in the hallway outside his room. Almost as though he’d been waiting. He didn’t stop him from going in, but he followed, and Linhardt was just too tired to stop him. 

“--And so Ferdinand was super tense and I’m pretty sure he was worried about you guys but he kept going on about how he was preparing to assume command when you guys inevitably didn’t come back, and at first I was like hey let’s fight, relieve some of that tension, and it worked for a bit, but then I think his worry infected me or something because I was like, oh god, what if you guys were dead! What if you didn’t come back?”

As cheerful as his chatter was, his voice wavered on that last sentence, and Linhardt snuck a lazy glance at him out of the corner of his eye. Caspar’s hands were gripped into fists, and he was glaring at nothing in midair, as if ready to throw down with some invisible opponent. Whoever had caused their mission to take so long, maybe. Perhaps fate itself. It would be cute, maybe, but the fact that he was sitting on the edge of his bed in a way that blocked Linhardt from properly laying down without essentially hitting his knee on a sheet of metal ruined any fondness he felt about the image.

Wordlessly, he reached up to Caspar’s shoulder, fingers dipping under the metal edge of his armor until he found the leather strap that held it together and undid the buckle. Caspar’s pauldron came loose with a click and started to slide down his arm, startling him out of his monologue.

“Hey!”

“I’m going to sleep,” Linhardt said, the firmness of his words spoiled a bit by yawning halfway through. “If you’re not leaving you can at least take all these pointy bits off.”

He started working on the buckle that held shut his gauntlet, exasperation resurging at how ridiculous it was to wear this much armor around the base. Sure, they were at war, but wasn’t it hard to pick things up with metal gloves on all the time?

Caspar stared at him for a second, before starting to help. He was used to dealing with all these buckles, supposedly, so he made much quicker work of it, and with both of their efforts they soon dumped all his armor pieces in an unceremonious pile on the floor. Linhardt didn’t even want to think about how much effort was involved in putting it on in the morning. Didn’t Caspar ever just want to go back to bed when he was done?

Under all that armor, Caspar was still, hm. Bigger than Linhardt had expected, probably prompted by his memory of his smaller frame. Had he really never seen him without armor since then? He couldn’t really remember, but it didn’t matter. As long as there weren’t metal shoulder pads or whatever digging into him while he was sleeping, he couldn’t care less.

To his surprise, Caspar also flopped down on the bed as if he were going to sleep. Well, that was fine-- except for the fact that he just kept talking. Linhardt took a moment to rearrange himself, ending up with his head on Caspar’s shoulder, which was surprisingly comfortable when armor-free, a fact which he made sure to mentally note.

Caspar’s voice hitched a little when he settled there, but in just moments he was back to his regular inane chatter, so much so that Linhardt wondered if he’d imagined it. 

He was so tired that once he closed his eyes, he thought he might just be able to fall asleep despite Caspar’s continued rambling. However, as the minutes passed and he leeched warmth from his friend, he was still horribly, painfully awake. Finally, drowsy and irritated, he reached up with one hand, feeling for Caspar’s face. His fingertips brushed stubble along the edge of his jaw and he almost froze, startled by another unexpected change, but pressed on, covering his friend’s mouth with his hand.

“I _need_ you to stop talking so I can rest,” he told him, trying to impress upon him with his tone how vital this was. 

For one long and blissful moment there was silence, and then Caspar mumbled something against his palm that sounded like ‘but you were gone so long!’. 

“Nonetheless, if you do not stop talking, I will be forced to do something drastic.”

It’s not as though he had a plan. As he slowly pulled his hand back, braced for the onslaught of words (which thankfully didn’t come), Linhardt reviewed his options. He could gag him somehow. He could drive him from his room with magic (exhausting, not a real option), he could startle him into silence by--

Every muscle in his body froze as his mind filled with an image of kissing him. 

_No!_ That might silence him for a moment, but he couldn’t imagine how many questions Caspar would have after that-- questions he was not nearly equipped to handle. Besides-- besides-- it wasn’t even a good option! Why had he thought of such a thing? Sure, his friend was surprisingly comfortable, and warm, and just moments ago Linhardt could feel him breathing against his fingers-- actually, he could still feel it now, in the soft rise and fall of his chest under Linhardt’s arm. Even with his eyes closed, he couldn’t help but be reminded of his presence.

It was his own fault, but plagued with such thoughts, it took him far, far longer than usual to fall asleep.

Maybe that was why he was still awake when Caspar shifted, and he felt the brush of a hand against his temple, presumably pushing back a strand of hair, and then lips pressed to the top of his head. 

“Alright, alright,” he felt as much as heard his friend murmur. “Good night.”

Oh. Well, maybe that was a can of worms that could be opened the next afternoon, after about fifteen hours of sleep. Or, maybe, they could talk about it a few years from now. Once the war was over. Once they were old and gray, perhaps, would be an appropriate time. No need to rush. 

As he drifted off to sleep, rest finally taking him, his last thought was a fervent wish that his dreams not do anything odd with this information. He just wanted one peaceful night of sleep without any weird dreams. Surely that wasn’t too much to ask.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I felt like this needed a second chapter.

“Um, that’s great that you’re back, Professor. I’m deeply, deeply moved.” Linhardt’s words were at odds with his tired tone, but they still made Caspar glance at him in surprise. He wanted to believe-- he’d like to believe, that knowing him so long (almost fifteen years now), he could read Linhardt a little better than most of their comrades. And despite his tone of voice, he could tell that his fervent words were closer to the mark of what he was actually feeling. 

Which was weird. Wasn’t it?

They hadn’t talked much about the professor. Oh, of course, when they’d first assumed their position, first chosen to lead this class, they were all anyone could talk about. But since their disappearance, it was Edelgard who’d bring them up the most, in a voice quavering with vulnerability, usually after some battle won with heavy losses-- or sometimes not won at all, just escaped.

But, Linhardt? Maybe once or twice, in passing. But now he sounded almost as if-- almost as if those five years hadn’t happened at all, like he was still the starry eyed student Caspar thought they’d all grown out of.

He was excited that the Professor was back too, don’t get him wrong! But in that moment he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of something else. Worry, maybe? Like maybe his best friend was going to get all obsessed with their mysterious Professor again, and then they’d vanish into thin air for a second (third!) time, and Linhardt would be crushed (although of course he wouldn’t show it outwardly, but Caspar would know) and then, and then--

He was getting off track. It didn’t matter. He clapped the Professor on the back and was awarded raised eyebrows and a small smile of acknowledgement, and he had to admit it felt good. They all loved attention from their Professor. It wasn’t anything to get worked up over.

…

It had only been a few months since they’d started, but sharing a bed with Linhardt had started to feel… normal. That first morning he’d wondered if it was a one-off, spurred by Linhardt’s abnormally high (even for him) level of exhaustion and the odd compulsion that kept Caspar unable to leave his side that night, but lo and behold, a few days later, it happened again; they were talking like normal in Linhardt’s room, Linhardt had started to take off his armor without saying anything, and bam! Cuddling. Maybe even snuggling.

He’d mentioned it to Dorothea by accident once, and she’d hooted with laughter, but then calmed enough to tell him that it wasn’t abnormal, exactly, to seek comfort in another person’s company-- he’d hastily insisted, face beet red, that there was nothing physical going on beyond literal bed sharing, and she’d seemed surprised but not judgmental. 

“It’s more like a therapy cat, then,” she’d told him, “Don’t you feel better when you pet a cat or a dog, like the battlefield is so far away? This is probably similar to that.”

That would explain why once or twice Linhardt had sort of… caressed his head, scratching his nails against the short hair on the sides. He always stopped right away, like he was embarrassed about it, and it felt so good that Caspar didn’t want to say anything. Maybe he’d scare him off. Maybe Linhardt just needed to pet him like one would pet a cat. He remembered that Linhardt did like cats, and that the number of strays in the monastery had lessened over the past few years. Less people to feed them, he guessed, although he didn’t really want to follow that line of thought too long.

It was fine. More than that, it was comfortable, and comforting, and he found that as familiar as it already was, he could still grow to like even more the sound of Linhardt’s voice slowing down as he fell asleep. After a long battle where it wasn’t certain whether they’d come out alive… it was nice to feel his best friend’s breath against the side of his neck.

That was all it was. Obviously.

So it made sense that Linhardt would want to spend that sort of time with other people. Like, say, the Professor. It made sense in theory, but when Caspar crossed paths with them leaving Linhardt’s room one midmorning, he almost fell over in surprise. It was just surprise, definitely, that roared through his veins and dug sharp claws into his heart.

It was just surprise that drove him to dash to the Professor’s side and challenge them to a fight on the spot.

After, sweaty and bruised, he’d insist to the Professor that he just wanted to see if he could take them now, now that he was so much stronger (and taller!). They just raised their eyebrows at him as if skeptical, but didn’t question him. It had ended in a draw anyway, a fact made even more painful that, at some point, Linhardt had been roused by their shouting and come to his door to see what they were doing. Even now he leaned against the door frame, an unimpressed look on his face. The Professor raised a hand in a goodbye and turned to go, and Caspar considered following him.

“Well, that sure was something. Where did all of that come from?” Linhardt’s dry voice drew him towards the doorway like a fishing line. 

“Oh, well, you know, suddenly I just wanted to fight them! I’ve been training with Ferdinand and Petra and stuff all along, so it’s hard to tell how much better I’ve gotten, but--” Caspar lifted a fist to flex, then winced as something in his shoulder throbbed at the movement. The Professor still had some tricks up their sleeve, apparently.

“You could have fought them yesterday,” Linhardt pointed out, “or later today during actual training. Or really, anytime other than outside my door while I am _trying to rest_.”

Caspar winced again at the steel in his voice, and Linhardt frowned, stepping closer. His hand worked its way beneath Caspar’s pauldron to rest on his tunic, and a moment later Caspar felt the muscle in his shoulder start to relax and heal. Next Linhardt cupped his face, and the ache of what would have probably been a black eye tomorrow started to fade away.

Caspar really was no good at keeping secrets, not from anyone, but especially not from Linhardt. He sighed, hanging his head a little-- Linhardt’s palms kept it supported. “Alright, I got kinda mad when I saw them come out of your room. I guess I kinda like sleeping there more than I thought.”

That was the truth of the matter-- he was jealous. When the Professor was around, everything revolved around them. Caspar had forgotten how it felt for that not to be true.

There was a moment of tortuous quiet, and then Linhardt said, “Caspar…”

Caspar glanced back up to see Linhardt’s eyes searching his face, studying him like he was a logic problem he knew how to solve, but didn’t want to expend the effort to do so. It was a face he’d seen him make in class plenty of times.

“The Professor didn’t sleep in my room. I asked them to stop by because I was curious about if and how their crest had changed over the time they were away.” 

Oh. Well, that made sense.

“Oh, crap. I really mucked this up, didn’t I? I gotta go apolo--”

“Furthermore,” Linhardt continued as if he hadn’t spoken, voice and expression firm, “I don’t allow just anyone to sleep in my bed. I had thought you would say something and spare me the effort, but it seems the responsibility falls as ever to me.”

Before Caspar could formulate a reply to this cryptic sentence, or try to figure out what Linhardt wanted him to say, Linhardt stepped forward, still with his hands on his face, and kissed him.

It was not a particularly romantic kiss. It was the bare minimum, lips against lips, held for a second or two to get the point across, and then released. Despite that, Caspar immediately felt warmth flood through his body, and a feeling like fizzing beneath his skin. When Linhardt stepped back and Caspar saw his face, still determined but flushed red suddenly, the feeling intensified.

“Oh. I--”

“And you absolutely do have to apologize to the Professor,” Linhardt added, releasing his face, one hand coming up seemingly without thought to cover his own mouth. Caspar nodded mutely. 

He turned to go, then stopped and jogged back the few steps to Linhardt’s side. “Do I also, get to, y’know,” he asked, frazzled, and Linhardt raised an eyebrow at him, seeming to recover himself in the face of Caspar’s struggles. Caspar made a vague hand motion from his own chest to Linhardts, and then back again.

“I’m sorry. Are you asking if you can kiss me?” At the edge of his voice there was a hint of what sounded like amusement, and Caspar took that as a sign of hope, nodding like a man possessed.

They stared at each other for a moment, and then Linhardt seemed to steel himself, lowering his hand, lacing his fingers together-- almost awkwardly, like he didn’t know what to do with them. He then folded them behind his back. “I-- alright. Yes, go ahead.”

Floundering and unsure but buzzing with excitement, Caspar seized him and kissed him. It would have been impossible back in academy days-- at least not without standing on something, or getting him to lean down-- but Linhardt had only an inch or so on him now, and it was beyond easy. Except for the part where their noses bumped, and the force with which he’d launched himself caused Linhardt to stagger back a step or so. 

He pulled back, hands gripping Linhardt’s shoulders, breathing like they’d just finished training for the day. 

“You kiss like you eat, which is to say with appalling manners,” Linhardt told him bluntly, but his cheeks were red again. 

“We’ll practice,” Caspar replied instantly, and Linhardt blinked.

“I… I suppose.” he pulled himself together and then ordered, “not now. Now you need to go beg forgiveness from the professor.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Caspar released his shoulders and spun to go. “I’ll be right back.”

From behind him, he heard a muttered, _‘good lord’_, but he was already off, his heart singing.


End file.
